Dear Readers, when I saw that Michelle
had published this new book, I had to invite her to be on the blog, so I could introduce
the book to you. Those of you who have read the other books I’ve featured know
why.
Bio: Michelle Stimpson’s works include the highly acclaimed Boaz
Brown, Divas of Damascus
Road (National Bestseller), and Falling Into Grace, which has been optioned for
a movie. She has published several short stories for high school students through
her educational publishing company at WeGottaRead.com.
Michelle serves
in women’s ministry at Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship in Dallas, Texas.
She regularly speaks at special events and writing workshops sponsored by
churches, schools, book clubs, and educational organizations.
The Stimpsons
are proud parents of two young adults, grandparents of one super-sweet granddaughter,
and the owners of one Cocker Spaniel, Mimi, who loves to watch televangelists.
Welcome back, Michelle. This is a different
kind of book for you. What made you venture a little with this title?
After writing
40+ books, an author can get kinda stagnant. I have recently started reading
clean mysteries, and I found that I actually enjoy them. They keep me up late
at night because I truly want to find out whodunit and why. I’m hoping my
readers will enjoy a different pace, too. I think they’ll be glad to know it’s
possible to change things up and still keep the message of the book strong.
What is the message of the book?
The main
character, Ashley, is struggling to make sense of things as they relate to her.
She has suffered much loss in her life already. But she’s going to have to
understand that God doesn’t make His plans around her. She may be the apple of His eye, but she is not the center of
the universe. His promise to be there
always will have to be sufficient for some of us until we reach the other side.
Wow! That title really caught me. How did
you come up with the idea for this book?
You know what, I
wish I could remember. Thankfully, I have not experience much death around me,
but I know that the longer I live, the more loved ones will pass away. Death is
a part of life. I don’t kill off a lot
of characters in my books, but there was just something about this couple that
struck my imagination, and I knew they needed a book. Quickly!
How quick?
About 10 days
from outline to finished first draft.
Seriously?
Yes, but keep in
mind: This is a shorter work of fiction.
I know it’s possible. With my novella
that is going up in a collection tomorrow, I had written the first 17,000 words
over several weeks. Then I finished over 10,000 words in one week, and it’s a
suspense novella, too.Why did you choose to write a shorter piece?
I actually got
my start with fiction as a short-story writer. I love shorter reads because I
can finish them quickly. My schedule is often irregular, so it’s hard for me to
get into longer books during hectic weeks. When I sit down for a few hours with
a short read, I already know I’m going to have the satisfaction of finishing
it. I usually save longer reads for holidays/vacations.
What else is going on with you outside of
the writing world?
Glad you asked!
I am now the grandmother of a wonderful baby girl. Bless God! I am spending a
ridiculous amount of time just staring at her and nibbling on her juicy cheeks.
I so understand that. Only mine are great
grands now. What’s your next release?
I’ve got a
non-fiction book coming out entitled Change
Your Mind, Transform Your Life: 21 Truths to Renew Your Mind in Christ. I
am always sooo excited about edifying believers. Non-fiction is not my first
genre, but it is definitely one of the most fulfilling to me.
Do you have advice for aspiring authors?
I have more than
advice—I have help! They can visit
www.PublishMyBookAlready.com to
take classes and learn more about publishing, marketing, etc.
Wow, that sounds good! Now tell us a
little about the story.
Ashley Crandall finally convinced her husband, Allan, to
attend the Christian men’s retreat ... but he ends up dead there. What happened
to him on the campgrounds? Who would want to kill Allan? And why are the
detectives pointing fingers at Ashley? In her quest to solve the mystery and
clear her name, Ashley will learn something about her husband that she didn’t
want to know and something about her Christian faith that shifts her
life.
This short work by national bestselling,
multi-published author Michelle Stimpson is packed with emotion, suspense, and
a her signature way of weaving hope into a story – always a hit with readers
who enjoy faith-based reads.
Please give us a peek into Who Killed My Husband?
Chapter
1
“Thank you for
doing this, Allan.” I kept my eyes steady on the unfamiliar, winding road
sprawling before me. Already, I had braked three times for sharp turns and a
pothole.
Allan, ears
covered by headphones, bobbed as though he didn’t hear my compliment. His baby
smooth skin, dimples, and semi-Mohawk haircut made him look much younger than
thirty-two. So young, in fact, that a few times, twenty-something chicks at his
DJing events had mistaken me as his older sister or his manager, even though I
was only thirty. Allan thought that was funny. “It’s good for business,” he’d
say, flashing his boyish grin.
I was tired of
him acting like a boy. A guy. A dude. A bro. I needed him to grow up and be a
man. Start thinking about things that mattered, namely his eternity. Since
Allan had agreed to attend this non-church-affiliated men’s retreat, I thought
my prayers were finally being answered. I had gone all out to take off work
early so I could take him to Peaceful Days. Even dusted on some makeup and
flat-ironed my wavy mane so he’d have this awesome picture of me in the back of
his mind all weekend.
I tapped him on
the shoulder and mouthed again, “Thank you for doing this.”
I knew better
than to expect a “Sure thing, Ashley,” or “It’s my pleasure to go,” from him.
He was either ignoring me or caught up in his music. No matter, I was used to
being blocked out of his life by music, working at KRBF FM radio Dallas. His side gigs. His
friends. His lifestyle.
Still, my eyes
watered for a moment. The rejection stung worse than a bee. At least when a bee
stung, it was defending its own territory. Allan and I were supposed to be one
in God’s sight. Why he chose to turn on me—his wife of six years—and treat me
like the enemy was unreasonable. We were on the same team.
At least we were
until Corey died.
Blinking tears
away, my vision cleared just in time to spot a pretty good-sized animal dart
into the road. I slammed on the brakes. My stomach squirmed. I winced, hoping
the thing had escaped being crushed.
A second later,
my body relaxed. Whatever it was hadn’t become a bump under my wheels.
“Geez Louise!”
Allan yelled. “Can you not see?”
“It came out of
nowhere!” I pointed toward the open field on the passenger’s side.
“I saw it a mile
away!” he claimed, motioning toward his window. “You’re not paying attention.”
“Neither are
you!”
Allan pulled the
headphones down so they dangled around his neck. “I’m paying plenty of
attention to the road. Can’t say the same about you since you nearly got us
killed.”
Cautiously, I continued
our path to the campgrounds.
“Do you need me
to drive?” he asked with a hint of sympathy in his voice.
This was my
husband’s way of apologizing. He wouldn’t just come out and say, “Babe, I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He’d offer to do something.
“No,” I said.
That was my way of not accepting his roundabout apology.
I had grounds
for a full-blown argument. How dare he accuse me of trying to kill us? And why
am I driving anyway—I’m the woman! Real men know how to step up and take the
wheel in more ways than one. Top that off with the fact that my heart was still
racing from the animal-in-the-road scare, and I was primed.
But I didn’t
want to go there. Not now. Especially not today. Allan had finally agreed to
attend a Christian men’s conference for the weekend, and I’d been praying that
God would use this weekend to touch my husband’s heart. Having a big blowout of
an argument just before dropping him off wouldn’t exactly be productive.
Thanks to a few
books I’d been reading and the personal advice of the Holy Spirit, I had come
to the point of understanding that, apparently, Allan was in the “may be won
without a word” category. I just needed to keep my mouth zipped and let God do
His thing. Problem number one: Allan had a knack for provoking me. Problem number
two: I wasn’t always obedient. Problem number three: God was taking His sweet
time.
My husband
pressed a dial on his headphones. “Hello?”
The caller spoke
loud enough for me to hear that it was a man. A hollering man.
“Wait up, man! I
gotchu! My first payment isn’t even due until next month, bro,” Allan said.
I put two and
two together and realized he was talking to Jerry Albright, the man who had
helped finance my husband’s acquisition of the radio station where he worked.
“I’mma have yo
money like I said, at the time we agreed to,” Allan said forcefully, slipping
into a strong southern accent. “Why you tryna collect early?”
The rest of the
conversation was much more calm. Allan wasn’t playing with Jerry. But neither
was Jerry playing with Allan, apparently.
Great. Now we
have loan sharks after us. This whole DJ Pistol Whip persona was getting out of
control.
“Aight. I’ll
talk to you next week. I’m gonna be at a…some kind of thing my old lady set me
up to…Naw…you know I ain’t goin’ out like that! I got a reputation to protect!”
Allan laughed.
Thank God
they’re laughing and not threatening each other.
Whatever the man
had suggested was probably too civil for DJ Pistol Whip to admit to.
“I’ll catch you
later.” He took the headphones off, mumbling to himself that Jerry was crazy.
His thumbs whittled away at a message to somebody.
“In one-half mile,
turn left on Prayer Lane,”
the navigation system instructed.
Allan chuckled.
“Prayer Lane.”
He pushed his headphones back in place.
I could hardly
wait for that half a mile to come and go so I could drop him off at that camp
and burn rubber on my way out. I figured, if nothing else, at least I’d get a
weekend away from him
As we neared the
grounds, we were welcomed by the United States
flag, the Texas
flag, and the Christian flag. Flowers bloomed in pristine arrangements lining
the entryway’s white picket fence. Green grass rolled for acres between small
buildings with country flair. A large pond sparkled in the midst of the camp.
The scenery alone should have been enough to let Allan know that God is real
and loves to bring beauty into this world.
Peaceful Days
Camp was painted in bright red letters on a wooden sign. Underneath the
facility name was the phrase Come all who labor.
“That’s what I’m
talking about,” Allan yelled. His music’s volume must have been so loud he
didn’t realize how his voice carried. “Laboring is what I need to be doing this
Friday night instead of hanging out with some chumps at a camp.”
“Really?” I
yelled loud enough for him to hear me. “You think judging a twerking contest is
labor?”
“It’s a hard
job, but somebody’s gotta do it,” he shouted back. “DJing and vibin’ with the
hip hop culture is the way I make my money. You knew who you were marrying when
you married DJ Pistol Whip, right?”
“I didn’t marry
DJ Pistol Whip. I married Allan Crandall.”
“One and the
same, baby. One and the same.” He bobbed his head even harder and started
throwing punches in the air as though fighting an imaginary foe.
All I could do
was poke out my lips. He had a point. Allan had turned into this persona he’d
created to earn a living. He was very good at what he did. A part of me was
glad that he loved his work. But when that work involved MCing wet T-shirt
contests, I had a problem. A serious problem.
I followed the
signs to the H. P. Lewis men’s dormitory, which had been mentioned in the
series of emails leading up to the retreat. Of course, all of the email
messages came to me, since Allan wasn’t about to keep track of anything
regarding this event.
I parked and,
almost immediately, Allan hopped out. I pushed the button to open the back
window so he could retrieve his bags. As he walked around to the back of our
vehicle, I got the paperwork from my purse. Suddenly, I felt like a mother must
feel when she’s dropping her child off at kindergarten. The joy. The pain. The
pride.
A sadness swept
over me as I wondered: Will I ever experience that for myself?
Thoughts of
little Corey filled my mind, nearly overtaking me with their intensity. He
would have been three years old the following week. “Horrible Threes” I’d heard
people called them. People wouldn’t say such negative things about babies and
children—about them waking up in the middle of the night, the crying, the
teething, the getting into everything—if they realized what a blessing it was
to have a living, breathing, normal, healthy child.
The tears had
come too quickly for me to blink them away. I swiped them from my eyes.
Allan closed the
back window.
I got out of the
car to see him off. I had planned to give him a big kiss and a hug in Jesus’s
name, but I wasn’t feeling my husband or Jesus at the moment.
Allan hoisted
his backpack on his shoulder as he walked toward me.
All around us
were couples saying goodbye. Hugging, slight pecks, praying with one another.
I looked up at
him. Forced a smile. “Have a good weekend.”
The heavy weight
of concern crossed his face. “Why are you crying, Ashley? I’m at the retreat,
okay? This is what you wanted, right?”
As mean as Allan
could be sometimes, he always fell apart at the slightest hint of wetness on my
face.
Peering into his
eyes, I wondered why on earth God had allowed these crazy twists and turns in
my life. My son’s death. My failing marriage. Even my mother’s dementia, which
had been a long time coming, seemed an odd ending to such a good life.
If only my
husband and I were on the same page, spiritually, I could lean on him. We could
pray for each other. He could actually love me like Christ loved the church,
and I could be submissive because I respected him, and life would
be…well…easier and holier and basically better.
But I knew not
to share my thoughts to Allan. No sense in talking to a brick wall.
Allan hugged me.
“Get some rest this weekend. I know.…” He sighed. “I know what today is.”
“Yeah.”
Allan still
couldn’t say Corey’s name.
A tinny beat
came from the headphones, interrupting our silent moment.
“Are you going
to wear those all weekend?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I
guess, when we’re not doing anything.”
I thrust the
itinerary into his hand. “You’ve got a full weekend. There’s no way you’ll have
time for music.”
“There’s always
time for music, baby.” He gave a charming smile.
I sighed.
Twisted my lips to the side. This was a joke to him. If all he planned to do
was go to the classes between vulgar songs, my efforts to get him here had been
nothing but a waste of time, effort, money, hope, and prayers.
I blew a cool
breeze from my mouth. “You’re right. It’s totally up to you, Allan. Enjoy
yourself.” I turned and opened the driver’s side door, not wanting him to see
my fresh batch of tears. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to manipulate
him by crying. Guilt-induced expressions of love were always disingenuous and
short-lived.
Allan grasped my
arm. “Ashley. Wait.” He squared up my shoulders before I had a chance to wipe
my cheeks dry.
“I’m here because
I want to be here.” He swallowed. “I’m tired of fighting with you. I can’t
change what happened. I can’t fix everything like I want to. And I don’t know
God like you want me to. But I’m here this weekend because I do care.”
“If you care,
then listen? Take off your headphones and listen to what’s in here.” I placed
my hand on his heart.
Slowly, my
husband removed the black headset. He put it around my neck. Smiled. “You could
use some music this weekend, I bet.”
I giggled
slightly. “You’re probably right.”
He rested his
forehead on mine. “I love you, pretty brown-eyed girl.”
His nickname for
me, based on the Mint Condition 90s song, still made me melt. I twisted my lips
to one side, then gave way to a smile of my own. “Love you, too. See you Sunday.”
The truth was: I
loved Allan and I knew he loved me. But if God didn’t fix him that weekend, I
didn’t know what I was going to do. We’d already tried counseling. Well, I
tried counseling. Allan went twice and said it was a waste of time. I bought
his-and-hers versions of do-it-yourself couples therapy-type books. Allan never
got past the first few chapters. I was getting to the end of my strategies for
improvement.
Friday night
found me in bed crying as I flipped through pictures of our wedding. We were so
happy back then. We had the rest of our lives in front of us.
Or so I thought.
Taking off the
afternoon and enduring the tension with Allan almost all the way to the camp
had taken a lot out of me. I didn’t want to argue with my husband. I didn’t want
to be so judgmental. I just didn’t know any other way to make him see how much
he needed Jesus.
Rather than cry
my eyes swollen, I decided to get up and do some work. I logged into my
employer’s system and began to edit and comment on documents the team had
uploaded. If nothing else, I could at least find some success at work.
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Thanks so much
for the interview!
Thank you, Michelle, for sharing this new
book with us. I can hardly wait to read it. You know how much I love your
books.
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